


Joy, For Vaguely

by rosa_himmelblau



Series: The Roadhouse Blues [5]
Category: Wiseguy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 22:31:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15828234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosa_himmelblau/pseuds/rosa_himmelblau
Summary: A night in the life.





	Joy, For Vaguely

"For love may come and—" _**snap!** _ "—tap you on the shoulder, some starless night!" _**Snap, snap!** _ "And just in case you feel you wanna hold her—" _**snap!** _ "—you'll have a pocket full of starlight—"

Sonny was singing, snapping his fingers, humming, jingling the car keys. Vinnie was walking next to him, trying not to run into him, alternately looking at the ground to see what his feet were doing, and at the sky, to see if it really was starless. Could've been; he didn't see any stars, anyway. But then, he'd passed one-too-many beers a couple hours ago, and even walking straight was complicated. Stars were way beyond him.

Sonny hadn't been drinking at all, nothing but coffee, but he tipped so well it could have been ice water and there would have been no complaints.

Sonny'd found this bar their second week in Kentucky. Vinnie hadn't even known they were looking for a bar, but then, he hadn't known they were looking for a boat, yet here they were, living on a houseboat and hanging out in a little hole in the wall bar. They'd been lost, and Sonny had driven past a place that rented houseboats, gotten half a mile down the road and made a sudden U-turn, and the next thing Vinnie knew, they were moving their stuff onto a boat, Sonny belatedly asking if Vinnie got seasick.

The bar, Sonny had told Vinnie, had a great band, and he was right about that; Vinnie had been half-tempted to drop Amber a call, clue her in on them, until he realized their entire repertoire consisted of covers of what Vinnie thought of as black & white rock & roll—Buddy Holly and Roy Orbison, Elvis and the Beatles—before they went psychedelic, before Elvis got sequins. They had no songs of their own, but everything they played was familiar, which was exactly why Sonny liked them, and Vinnie agreed.

So, two, three, sometimes four times a week they drove nearly forty miles to the Rendezvous Inn, and Vinnie drank beer, ate a hamburger and fries, and talked to the guys in the band between sets. And Sonny danced.

The first night there, the pretty red-haired waitress who'd brought them their drinks had told them she was getting off in a few minutes, so she'd be handing them off to her replacement. Sonny had talked her into sticking around for one dance that had turned into dancing all night. Vinnie noticed that it only took three nights for Corinne's wardrobe to change from practical bordering on sexy to tight jeans, low-cut blouses, and come-fuck-me heels. If Sonny noticed, he didn't say anything, but of course Sonny noticed.

Vinnie had never been that crazy about dancing; unless his partner was someone he was really comfortable with, it usually made him feel clumsy. Watching Sonny dance with Corinne gave him strange, conflicted feelings. Some part of him was jealous, some part of him—and he knew just which part **that** was—was turned on. And some part was just happy to see Sonny having a good time. It wasn't just altruism; Sonny in a good mood meant his life was better.

Still. Watching Sonny slip his hands into the back pockets of Corinne's jeans, watching him whisper in her ear—and her giggling—watching them sneak out for an hour or so of heavy petting . . . well, it was strange.

Vinnie stopped concentrating on his walking and almost immediately ran into Sonny, who grabbed his arm to steady him. Before he could say anything, Vinnie asked, "Is that how it happened?"

"How what happened?"

"Did love come and tap you on the shoulder?"

Sonny gave him a funny look. "What?"

"C'm'on, you can tell me. Is it true love with Corinne? Have you got a star in you pocket, just in case?" Vinnie didn't know why he was giving him grief about it.

It didn't matter though. Sonny just laughed at him.

 

They drove home with the windows open, the coolish, muggy night air hitting them in the face. It helped wake Vinnie up some, though he couldn't say it made him any more sober. Sonny didn't need either sobering or waking, Sonny was jazzed up from the coffee and the music and the almost-sex.

"You awake over there?"

Vinnie lifted his head off the headrest. "Yeah, I'm awake."

"You have a good time?" It was the first time Sonny had asked him that.

"Yeah, I did. Did you know those guys've been playing together since high school? They've all got day jobs, they just do this for fun and beers."

Sonny glanced over at him, and Vinnie saw in his face that perplexity that sometimes came over him when Vinnie did something he just couldn't understand. "So, how many rounds you buy 'em?"

Vinnie laughed and put his head back. "A couple."

Sonny didn't have to help him onto the boat, but he did, didn't have to steer him toward the shower or turn it on for him, but he did. He let him undress himself, though.

It was a warm night even on the water, and it was muggier there, and the room . . . cabin? Vinnie wasn't sure, whatever it was, it held the day's heat, and he didn't feel like struggling into the cotton shorts and T-shirt he slept in in the summertime, so he fell into bed naked and still a little damp.

The room was hardly dark before Sonny was in Vinnie's bed, which came as no surprise. This was part of their ritual, too. Vinnie had known by the bulge in Sonny's pants that he and Corinne hadn't gone any further than some good, clean groping, and if he'd had any doubt, that slightly glazed look in Sonny's eyes would have dispelled it.

Vinnie's theory was that if they were twenty years younger, things **would** have gone further, that Sonny would’ve nailed Corinne, then made Vinnie dessert. But at this time of their lives biology had made it an either/or proposition, and while Sonny was not one for delayed gratification, he was most definitely a man who got exactly what he wanted whenever possible. And in a choice between Corinne and him, Sonny chose him. It blew Vinnie's mind, but Sonny chose him.

Of course, Vinnie usually had a hard-on of his own to bring to the party, but then, usually he’d had fewer beers than he’d had tonight. He needed not to drink so much. It wasn’t like it made him feel any better, except when he was actually doing it.

Vinnie wondered what Corinne thought about all this, Sonny sexing her up, then going home with him. Maybe she was confused, but from what Vinnie had seen, she didn’t act confused. Maybe she knew just what was going on and she liked it; women could be pretty perverse, if you gave them half a chance. Whatever it was, Vinnie hoped she didn’t say anything to Sonny, since if there was anybody who didn’t know what was going on, it was Sonny.

Sonny's naked body against his felt very good, and Sonny kissing him felt even better. He didn't wait to be asked to touch Sonny, and of course Sonny didn't ask to touch him, though if he had, Vinnie might have told him there wasn't much point. He'd had a lot of beer, and while he could probably get it up, that was as far as it was going to go tonight, and sleep held more appeal for him Still, Sonny's hands on his dick felt really good, and Sonny liked to do this. For the thirty millionth time, Vinnie wondered what Sonny thought they were doing. The fact that this particular activity undoubtedly had its own entry in _The Joy of Gay Sex_ seemed to be something that hadn't occurred to Sonny, and it wasn't something Vinnie had any desire to point out. But there was no way Sonny thought of himself as gay, so what he was doing in Vinnie's bed, naked, kissing Vinnie, his hand between Vinnie's legs—well, that was anyone's guess.

Sonny came almost immediately, though Vinnie prolonged it as best he could. His attention focused elsewhere, Sonny's hand stopped what it was doing, which was fine, just fine . . . .

"Are you **asleep**?" Sonny's indignant voice woke him up.

"Muh. Yeah." He wanted to go back to sleep.

"Jesus." Sonny, sounding disgusted, started to get out of his bed, but Vinnie grabbed his wrist.

"Where're you goin'?" He hadn't meant to ask that. Sonny didn't answer him, but he wasn't trying to get his wrist back, either. "Just go to sleep, huh?" 

He let go of Sonny's wrist, and Sonny settled back next to him, left hand holding his right hip possessively. Vinnie thought he was humming again.


End file.
